


I seek the veins beneath your skin

by Kaiosea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Emotional Sex, Light Spanking, M/M, Rimming, “Casual” Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-19 06:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10634319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: Stiles doesn’t like it, but he craves it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



> I think this has a little bit of creepiness that I wasn't planning on, but hey, it's Steter. 
> 
> gryvon, I am definitely a fan of your Steter fics and was happy to be assigned to you! I had fun writing this and I hope you enjoy the smut.

It’s been happening for too long. This whatever-it-is with Peter. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but it’s become something more than that. Stiles doesn’t like it, but he craves it. So he shows up on time; the sooner to get it over with. 

Peter’s already at the door. His hair is wet; Stiles’ isn’t. Because that’s how they each like it. Peter showers before Stiles arrives; Stiles is clean, but unshowered. 

They’re kissing before he realizes it, his back against the wall, his hips keening into Peter’s. Peter is always aggressive, partially at Stiles’ request. His teeth scrape Stiles’ top lip and withdraw, teasing. 

Stiles has a faster reaction time, likes to get right to the main event, and Peter doesn’t. He doesn’t know if it’s due to the age difference or something being defective with Peter; Stiles can’t imagine not wanting sex, when it’s good sex, all the time. Peter is slower to become enticed, and Stiles usually asks to be fucked long before Peter’s cock slides in. 

They make it to Peter’s bed, and Stiles starts begging. He lies on his front, naked, arching his ass into the air. Peter has his jeans on, tight around the bulge at his crotch. He won’t undo his pants right away, even when Stiles makes a grab at the zipper. 

At least that gets him to push Stiles face-down on the bed. 

He spanks Stiles’ cheek once, lightly, and Stiles can’t stand how he arches into it, craving more. He flushes, thinking about how Peter has turned his ass cherry red before, how it stung when he fucked him afterwards. 

The next slap doesn’t come. Instead, he gasps when Peter’s tongue touches his hole. 

He forgot. It’s Friday. He barely makes it over during the week, so it’s usually just the weekend. Peter won’t be spanking him again today. 

Stiles has asked before, “Don’t you want to mark me up?” And Peter’s eyes had flickered, and he’d left bruises on his neck, shoulders, and stomach: but that was a Sunday. Stiles has figured that Peter likes to leave the marks when they won’t see each other for a few days, to let it linger. Whether it’s for other people to know or for Stiles to remember every time he showers, every time he dresses in the morning and undresses at night, that’s something Stiles doesn’t know. 

But it’s Friday, and they’ll be meeting again tomorrow. No marks necessary for today. 

His hole twitches as Peter’s tongue carefully traces its perimeter before spearing the tip inside. Stiles groans and feels Peter growl into him, strangely erotic and uncommon. As he works, saliva spreads down to his balls, tingling and full and now wet. Stiles finds it disconcerting, the softness, more than the pain that he craves. 

Peter’s tongue continues to play until Stiles is writhing on the sheets, his nipples rubbing the bed, his cock leaking, barely touching beneath him with his hips hitched up to Peter’s mouth, the sides of his ass bookended by Peter’s palms. His mind is fully concentrated on the act, and it feels like every inch of his body is hot and itching with need. 

“Fuck me,” Stiles says. “Please, do it.” 

Peter draws back, licking his lips. Stiles resists the temptation to hump the bed. 

“You think you’re ready for it?” Peter asks. That’s right, he _asks_. It’s still weird. He doesn’t even sneer anymore (at least not during sex). 

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” Stiles looks over his shoulder, watching as Peter grins and unzips his pants, taking his cock out. Of course he isn’t wearing underwear. 

When Peter starts to work his jeans down his hips, Stiles moans, “Nooooo.” He wants to feel the rough material beating his thighs. 

“Like this?” Peter says, and he stops inching them down. Stiles nods frantically. 

Peter pushes in quickly after that, not roughly but insistent. Stiles is quick to meet his thrusts. The chafing from the zipper of Peter’s jeans against his bare ass heightens the feeling of his cock nudging over his prostate over and over again. 

Peter pulls out when Stiles starts to get close to coming. Stiles whines, and Peter demands, “Flip over.” 

Stiles complies, arranging himself on his back and Peter slides in easily again, his arms bracketing Stiles’ shoulders, before he thinks to wonder about being face-to-face. It seems like they’ve been doing it this way a lot more often recently. He doesn’t know how he feels about it. Peter’s face is so close to his, but Stiles wants to avoid kissing him right now because it would just be too much. He bares his neck, tilting his head back instead to entice him. 

Of course it works. Peter gasps and attacks his neck with his mouth, pressing a flurry of open-mouthed kisses. His lips are so hot, probably in an over-human-temperature kind of way. 

It doesn’t make him feel less overwhelmed. 

He hates it. Feeling out of control when the reins are fully within his grip. _Stop_ is something that Peter has always understood here, and it throws him off balance how right that seems. 

It’s probably a strategy for Peter. Keep Stiles satisfied, and he’ll keep coming back for more (dick). The trouble is that he’s not wrong. 

Peter looks desperate to come, his eyes wild. 

“Stiles, I—”

Stiles shoves his mouth against Peter’s, finally kissing him because he doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. He doesn’t want to let anything slip, himself, either. 

He realizes Peter is coming inside him, a groan muffled against Stiles’ mouth. Stiles lets the feeling of heat wash over him and gives himself away too, his cock becoming more rigid, his ass more tight, before he’s spurting all over his belly and up his chest. 

This is something he’s always had a choice with. No one can ever make him do anything he doesn’t want to; it’s something he vowed to himself a long time ago. 

Peter’s eyes close. Stiles thinks that he’s going to fall asleep while he’s still inside him, and he’s going to let him stay.


End file.
